


Russia Gave Me You

by mayazero



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Kinda Crack, M/M, Mutual Pinning, Open Ending, Victor spelled with a k, and (light) pole dancing, author has no knowledge about painting and modeling so vague descriptions of it too, awkward duck yuuri, brief appearance of drunk!yuuri, brief appearance of sexual tension, flamboyantly gay peacock viktor, hopeful (???) ending, kinda sad ending, model!victor, ninjaninjablinkandyoullmissseungjj, poor yakov and celestino, self rediscoveryTM travels to other countries, slight coffee shop au, tired artist!yuuri, vague descriptions of places becs author still haven't seen any of them and is not confident, you gais will survive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayazero/pseuds/mayazero
Summary: Yuuri, suffering through the dreaded creative rut, decided running off to another country was a wise decision.Viktor, a tired top model, decided randomly approaching fans was the greatest idea since sliced bread.Unknowingly, both of their impulsive decisions led them to Life and LoveTM.---Or a Model/Artist/Coffee Shop hybrid AU where Yuuri is a tired artist who lost all inspiration and traveled to Russia to regain his inspiration. Prior to their meeting, Viktor originally thought Yuuri was a fan and stupidly offered his autograph. They met at a coffee shop.





	Russia Gave Me You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Viktuuri Reverse Bang 2017!!!
> 
> You have no idea how much I struggled to write this sobs;;; Oh well, hope you'll enjoy it :)
> 
> Shout out to my artist Danny! He and his art is really awesome. I enjoyed very much working with you despite of all the hiccups we encountered hehehe! Please check out his[ website](http://www.dannygrezel.com/) or you can give him a shout out to his[ tumblr!](http://dannygrzlart.tumblr.com/).
> 
> My never ending thanks to my beta [tuples,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuples)([tumblr](http://eclair.tumblr.com/)) who is so awesome she still managed to make it through despite the time pressure. Thank you so much Bes!
> 
> Feel free to bother me on[ tumblr](https://fyvkthisshyet.tumblr.com/) too haha!
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit: Now includes the art!!! Bask in it's glory!**

 

Cell phones were such a nuisance, honestly.

Sure they were actually really useful and is one of the greatest inventions of all time, next to the internet and the computer, but Yuuri could totally survive without them.

Especially now, when he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

“I know Celestino, I know. Like I keep telling you, I’ll back within a month or two – there is nothing for you to worry about.” He assured – for probably the hundredth time that day – the Italian man, gaze flitting back and forth from the departures area to his bags. His flight had already been called earlier and he honestly doesn’t want to miss it. The impromptu plane tickets to St. Pertersbrurg were damned expensive, after all.

 _“But Yuuri, why now?”_ His agent inquired, desperation underlining his voice it honestly made Yuuri feel guilty enough to think about just dropping this whole vacationing business and force himself to mass produce canvas after canvas of painted works. Especially as Minako had decided to host a fundraising exhibition at the newly opened gallery in Tokyo for the next week.

But that’s the thing, he can’t.

For some unfathomable reason, last week, when Yuuri finally decided to sit in his studio to start working on his pieces for the exhibition. He found himself staring blankly at the white canvas for half an hour, paintbrush awkwardly hovering above his color pallet, undecided which color to pick. It took him another hour to finally figure out that yes, he absolutely has no idea what the hell he was going to paint, and that _nothing_ was ever getting into mind.

He had been in denial at first, laughing it off and figuring maybe he needed a little break. He _had_ just finished a rather large and complicated commission.

That fact that he had finished it a week before remains needless.

Yuuri only accepted the fact that he _indeed_ was in a creative rut when, a week later, the same thing happened. It hadn’t taken him long then to decide to get out of the country, taking advantage of the fact that his agent was currently visiting his parents in Italy.

Thankfully he had yet to promise Minako anything.

“Why don’t you take this opportunity to focus on Phichit, hmm?” he suggested, making sure to insert some lightheartedness into his voice. “I heard he’s been finishing off art pieces like a machine.” _Unlike me,_ he mentally added, though not bitterly.

True enough, his best friend was indeed finishing off painting after painting. But then it had been in light of his Korean idol boyfriend cheating on him with a Canadian Hockey player so not only was his muse screaming at him to make more paintings, most of them had been really dark and twisted. Very unlike the usually sunny and very friendly Phichit.

Yuuri honestly doesn’t envy Phichit.

 _“I know,”_ the Italian man sighed, and Yuuri could bet the other was now tugging at his ponytail. The other was prone to doing that whenever he was agitated. _“I’m on my way to Thailand as we speak. But Yuuri-“_

The ringing of the airport’s intercom caught Yuuri’s attention, making panic claw its way out of his chest when he heard his flight number being called for the last time. He gathered all his bags in a frantic. “Sorry Celestino! But they’re calling my flight now. I need to go!”

_“Wait, Yuuri! At least tell me where you’re go-“_

“See you in two months!”

 _“You said a month what-“_ Yuuri was quick to drop the call, practically running towards the gate. On his way, he passed by a trash can. He found himself staring hard at it, phone clutched even harder on his hand. To throw or not to throw, that is the question. If Phichit had been with Yuuri, the Thai would stare aghast at him, phone cuddled lovingly to his chest. The young man _was_ a little obsessively attached to the miniature machine.

But Yuuri wasn’t Phichit.

With mind resolutely made up, Yuuri happily threw his phone at the trash can’s small opening, along with all the baggage he has no plans to bring with him on his trip.

Yuuri swore he had never breathed lighter before.

 

* * *

 

Viktor never realized just when exactly the world had lost its luster.

He certainly remembered not feeling this way before, back when he was still starting out as a model. When he was still a starry eyed boy who found everything fascinating and certainly thought the world was but a juicy fruit he could just pluck – most especially as his popularity had been instant. Overnight, Viktor Nikiforov found himself as Russia’s newest poster boy, with various local prominent brands tripping over themselves to sign a contract with him. Every article of clothing and accessories he modeled at runways always ended up sold out a day after.

Viktor felt like he was the king of the world.

Particularly when he reached his teenage years, as he was flitting between the lines of puberty, his popularity skyrocketed even more. He now branched out as a photo model, deciding that as much as it was wonderful being a runway model, he’s had enough reprising the same things again and again.

And there was nothing Viktor hated more than repetitive routines.

His popularity had bloomed even further then, as he found himself start accepting jobs from well-known European brands – at one point he had even became a spokesperson. Seventeen year old Viktor had certainly found everything delightful.

Now, as he started dancing at the borders pushing 30 (and, ultimately, his impending retirement), 27 year old Viktor found himself suddenly lost. Now this feeling had been brought on over by a phone call he had engaged last night with his good friend Christophe Giacometti. The Swiss model had relayed the news of his impending nuptials and then had asked if Viktor would do the honors of being the Best Man.

Of course, he had joyously accepted such a role.

After their call, as Viktor reviewed the past couple years of his life in preparation for his anticipated speech, it was only then he had realized just how exactly lonely and bare his existence had been. The only group of people he could call his family and friends was the small amount of fellow models Yakov handled, his manager included in that already (in lieu of both Viktor’s parents disowning him on his fifteenth birthday, right in front of his younger siblings, when they realized their eldest son was now earning more than them and was not keen on sponsoring their destructive lifestyles.)

Hell, he had never been in a serious relationship! Merely preferring the various one night stands that came his way.

“Yakov,” He pouted, swiveling his chair to face his manager directly, and not the other’s reflection. “What am I doing?”

The older man paused in fiddling with his tablet, giving him an exasperated glare. “Working, Vitya. You’ve been commissioned by Baranovskaya Designs to model their work.”

Viktor’s pout deepened at that blasé reply. “That’s not what I meant!” he whined, staring pitifully at his manager. Really, Yakov should know better by now. How long have they been working together? 15 years? 20? All Viktor knew was that he had never had another manager other than Yakov since he started his modeling career.

Not that he wanted anyone else. The old man had become _something_ of a father figure to Viktor by now. And he knows the feeling is reciprocated, despite whatever outward appearance Yakov maintained.

Viktor _wasn’t_ the only model Yakov handled, and it wouldn’t be good to show such obvious favoritism.

Thought really, all of his models knew just how much Yakov favored Viktor.

Yakov was quick to tuck his tablet under his armpit and brought a hand to his temples, massaging it. “What the hell do you want this time, Viktor?”

The model gave the older man a hurt look, a hand dramatically placed on his chest. “You wound me Yakov! How could you ever think that of me?” Viktor batted his eyelashes, the bright grin on his face the only thing betraying his real thoughts.

Yakov rolled his eyes. “Look, Vitya. If this is about Chris’ wedding and you needing to fly over to Switzerland to help with the preparations, you could have told me straight away, rather than this foolish roundabout hinting. Finish all your commitments for this week and then we’ll negotiate your vacation.” He went back to fiddling with his tablet, ignoring Viktor now. A clear indication that the discussion was over.

Viktor could take a hint, swiveling his chair to face the mirror once again. Though really, he was far from appeased. He had been serious when he asked, why couldn’t Yakov understand that?

When his attention returned to the present, he gazed back at his own peacock colored (as dubbed by a fashion magazine years ago) eyes staring from the mirror, he then realized that the earlier playful pout he wore had turned into a real frown.

 

* * *

 

Russia certainly deserved its title as the Fairytale country.

Yuuri had already stayed at the country for more than a week, and he certainly could feel himself slowly falling for the wonderful country’s charms.

Sitting outdoors at a café in the Red Square, staring at the various colors that painted his surroundings, Yuuri could certainly feel the artist in him delighted with the wonderful structures of art surrounding him.

Although not really a huge fan of architectural structures, for he never really understood them much, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t appreciate the beauty of Russia’s various cathedrals and Kremlins. Just being around these pieces of art made Yuuri feel like his soul  charged up. He felt like he was now capable of painting even thousands of canvases. Leaving for a vacation certainly had been the right choice.

Though, frustratingly, his muse has still yet to be stimulated into thinking up a design. Nor push him to actually start painting one of the said thousand pieces.

Until he managed to look inside the coffee shop.

Sitting comfortably at the very corner of the shop, completely inconspicuous due to the various shop ornaments strategically designed to hide that little nook (thought from the position where Yuuri was, the place was perfectly visible), Yuuri saw what probably was the most handsome man.

Shiny silver colored hair (Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was dyed or natural) fell softly towards the other’s face, hiding the bright beautiful eyes that he was sure the other man had. Yuuri couldn’t see the other man’s face clearly but from what he could see, the man had high cheekbones, a regal nose, and pouty lips. The other man’s figure was not lanky or bulky but somewhere between that, hinting that the man occasionally worked out.

Yuuri could feel his breath starting to thin out, eyes finding themselves glued to the glorious creature as the handsome man continued to sip at his drink and fiddle with his phone. A moment later, an indescribable feeling started bubbling deep inside him, making his hand clutch unconsciously to the sketch pad he had haphazardly slid over to the middle of his table.

It was only after Yuuri had finished a rough doodle of the other man’s figure did he realize he was actually drawing.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had already gotten used to being intensely gazed at.

It was hard not to, considering what his occupation was. It was because of that he was now capable of differentiating the different kinds of looks he regularly received from strangers.

Which was why, his curiosity was immensely piqued when he couldn’t pinpoint what kind of gaze he was exactly receiving now. It started out as amazed, then moved to interest, until it shifted to concentrated and hadn’t moved since.

Viktor honestly didn’t get it at all. Just who the hell exactly was this person looking at him in such a way?

When he finally decided to give in to the temptation of searching around for the person responsible for the gaze, his eyes landed on an adorable Asian man sitting outside the café. The man was focused on something on his table, hand moving right above it. Viktor dismissed the man at first, figuring it wasn’t the Asian man when every time he looked at him, the other was too focused on the something on his table. Viktor only managed to change his mind when Viktor turned his gaze back to the Asian man, and their eyes met.

Much to his surprise, instead of evading his gaze or turning red from embarrassment like what other people were prone on doing, the man seemed to beam, eyes roaming over the rest of Viktor’s face before he returned his attention to his table.

Viktor grinned at the reaction, most especially since it seemed like that small interaction was all the Asian man needed as he seemed to become even more enthusiastic in doing whatever it was.

So he was a fan, how adorable.

Viktor hadn’t even known his popularity had finally crossed over to the Asian shores, distinctly remembering that he was only well known around Europe – hell, he haven’t even ventured yet towards the American market (though honestly he kind of has no plans to, as he wasn’t really keen on working for the American industry.)

But oh well, he certainly was not complaining, considering the particular fan was also absolutely adorable despite his rather chubby stature.

A wonderful idea briefly passed through Viktor’s mind, one that he couldn’t resist acting to.

When he finally decided to rise from his seat, a grin took hold of his lips, the first real one since this whole quarter-life crisis nonsense (he had immediately googled it a week ago, when he first realized there was something wrong. Needless to say, huge bouts of denial followed that revelation until eventually, he accepted it, finding no other explanation that would fit otherwise.)

(Google can be pretty brutal, sometimes.)

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s concentration was broken through when, out of the blue, the chair across him got dragged backwards and a figure sat on it. When he looked up from hunching over his sketch pad, the handsome man’s visage greeted him, a wide smile in place. Much, much, _much_ closer than before.

Blood was quick to rise on his cheeks, clammy hands losing grip on his graphite pencil, suddenly wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.

The handsome man’s smile widened even more at seeing his reaction, aquamarine eyes (or would peacock be more appropriate? Either way, he had been right when he stated earlier the silver haired man would have bright eyes) twinkling.

“Ah, what are you being embarrassed about?” the silver haired man asked in English, surprising Yuuri completely since not all Russians he had encountered had been good in English (though they totally made it up with their hospitality). Yuuri noticed that the Russian had a faint accent when he spoke.

“Uh-umm…” Yuuri stammered, eyes moving away from the man’s eyes. Sure, he had been delighted earlier when their gazes met because that meant Yuuri could now fully see his whole face, but it was a totally different thing when they were now sitting face to face and conversing.

It makes his earlier actions more intrusive.

Seemed like the handsome man didn’t share his views for his bright smile never lost its intensity.

“Would you like an autograph?” the handsome man offered, hand extended towards Yuuri’s sketchpad.

That immediately dispersed Yuuri’s embarrassment, confusion hurriedly replacing it. “Huh?” He couldn’t help voice out.

“You’re a fan, right? Thank you for your patronage.” If possible, the other’s smile brightened even further. Yuuri had to hold in the urge to squint his eyes. It wouldn’t look good, after all, and would further make no sense.

What was this man saying, anyway?

“Umm,” he finally decided to say, and continued to stare back at those bright eyes in confusion. “I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you mean.” That earned him a surprised look, the handsome man’s eyes widening a bit in shock. “But if this is about drawing you without permission then I deeply apologize. I’m willing to pay you, if you want…?”

The handsome man continued to stare at him in shock.

Yuuri could do nothing more than squirm in his seat, dreading and anticipating the other’s reaction.

“So,” other finally said, after a moment of awkward silence that made Yuuri pray even desperately for the ground to swallow him. “You’re not a fan?”

“Uhhm, no?” Yuuri hesitantly replied, chuckling in uncertainty. “But if it helps, I do think you’re very handsome and totally don’t doubt for a moment you having fans.”

It seemed like what Yuuri stated stumped the other man, making Yuuri immediately regret ever uttering it. Seriously, it _had_ been unnecessary.

But the other man surprised him by huffing a small laugh.

“It does, actually, for a little bit.” The silver haired man admitted, giving Yuuri another wonderful smile, making him evade those aquamarine eyes again.

Another awkward silence descended upon them. Thought this time, Yuuri greatly wondered if he was the only one who could feel it, as the other man had continued to look at with his smile never lessening in intensity.

Yuuri’s sketchpad laid forgotten in the middle of the table, until the other’s gaze landed on it.

 _“Amazing!”_ the handsome man immediately exclaimed, raising up from his seat to be able to look more clearly at Yuuri’s drawing of him, smile turning heart shaped. That probably what surprised Yuuri more, and not the other’s sudden outburst, for he never thought a smile like that was possible. “You draw so well! It totally looks like a photo taken by a camera.”

The blush was back on Yuuri’s face, this time for bashful embarrassment. “Thank you very much.”

That heart shaped smile turned into a grin as beautiful aquamarine eyes twinkling in mischief landed on Yuuri’s eyes. “I know what’ll make it look better though,”

“Huh?” Yuuri was barely able to react when the handsome man suddenly extended his arm towards Yuuri’s side of the table, grasping unto his graphite pencil and, flipping the sketch pad to face him, scribbled something at the bottom right corner of the page.

“There,” the silver haired man huffed, completely proud of himself. Yuuri let himself an amused smile as he flipped the pad again to face him. He couldn’t hold in the laugh that bursted out of him as his brain registered what the other man had scribbled unto his work.

Looks like, either way, Yuuri still got the other’s autograph.

The owner of the signature hadn’t even looked apologetic, merely beaming even more with pride at the sight of Yuuri’s laugh.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” He hesitantly asked, when he finally deciphered the signature a minute after he had calmed down.

The handsome man – Viktor Nikiforov – nodded an affirmative, back to being seated and smile never leaving his face. He extended a hand towards Yuuri. “Nice to meet you! And you are?”

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri replied, accepting the extended hand for a handshake.

The smiles on both their faces widened even more, gazes never leaving each other’s.

 

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri finally arrived at his hotel room, his first order of business was to cover the whole place in newspaper.

The second, was to finally take off what small amount of dust that had accumulated on his blank canvas and painting materials and laid them on top of the newspapers.

After the rather unexpected introduction, much to his frustration and disappointment, Yuuri and Viktor hadn’t been able to converse more properly as the Russian man’s phone ringed the exact moment Viktor sat back down. When the silver haired man saw the caller ID, his expression twisted with pain. The Russian man had immediately uttered an apology and, after making Yuuri promise to meet again tomorrow on the same place at the same time, had hurriedly left the place.

Yuuri was left blinking in disbelief, thoughts of everything that had just transpired being a dream floating through his mind.

Until his eyes landed on his sketchpad.

His confusion then was suddenly replaced with that indescribable feeling Yuuri had just realized was his muse willing him to create a piece. It had been too long since he had felt this, which was why he hadn’t recognized it earlier.

He hadn’t wasted time in leaving the place and hurried to his hotel.

Which brought him here now, everything else forgotten as his whole attention was being commanded by his canvas and paintbrush.

He managed to finish close to sundown, where Yuuri found holding himself back from flinging the completed piece out the balcony. The piece had been a complete disaster; Yuuri had gotten everything wrong. From the proportions of the face, to the lines, to the colors and to the shading – practically everything!

Although, when Yuuri critically looked at his painting again, he couldn’t help notice he had completely gotten the shade of Viktor’s eyes perfect and managed to capture the full charm of his smile.

And that was the only reason why the canvas had not become broken debris on the sidewalk.

 

* * *

 

“Oi, Viktor,” a harsh toned voice called to him, jarringly dragging him back away from his flights of fancies and into the present. When Viktor turned to face the speaker, he was greeted by the sight of his younger co-worker’s familiar peridot eyes darkened in anger. “What the hell did you do to Yakov? Stupid old man’s shouting again for no reason!”

And indeed, as the young model had complained, Yakov was at his usual spot whenever he was aggravated: in the middle of one of their modeling agency’s studios, pointing and berating anyone for all the mistakes he could find, and generally helping nature in deafening all of them.

Currently the old man was shouting at one of their make-up artists, because apparently the artist was the reason why the thumb size cockroach (that was already being carried away to be thrown by one of the cleaning agents) had managed to infiltrate their building.

Viktor had winced at the situation and had hurriedly turned around. He looked at the younger blond model with mock hurt. “And what made you think this was my fault this time, Yuri? The last time this happened, it was because of _you_.” Though really, this time it had _been_ his fault. Earlier, he had an important photoshoot scheduled with Russia’s Department of Tourism for this year’s campaign and he had been _late_ for it, as he had gotten too carried away with his meeting with that adorable Japanese artist. When he had finally arrived at the shoot, Yakov was on the verge of an aneurism.

Thankfully, the Department of Tourism’s head PR was a huge fan of Viktor’s, and had giddily excused all his mistakes (most especially his wistfulness, as it had worked in favor for the shoot – though Yakov had been prone to snap him out of it a few times) for the price of a selfie and an autographed poster.

As he had expected, Yuri growled in response to his jab, hands clenched into a tight fist. Viktor merely smiled sweetly at him.

“Fix this,” the blond hissed, jabbing a pointed finger at his chest. Viktor tried his best not to wince at the momentary flicker of pain the action had caused and continued to smile brilliantly at the young boy. “I don’t think my eardrums could take his yapping anymore!”

He laughed breathily at that statement. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Yuri.” Yuri gaped at him in response. He pointedly ignored it as he rose from his seat. “But fine, I’ll see what I can do.” Viktor hadn’t waited for any reply before striding towards the eye of the storm, charming smile in place.

Really, he guessed it was now time for him to step in and intervene with Yakov’s angry screeching. The poor make-up artist looked like she was on the verge of a meltdown.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri might have arrived a little earlier.

He was on the same table he as yesterday, having decided there after debating for a bit with himself whether to sit there or on Viktor’s previous seat – only for the decision to be made for him when someone else sat on Viktor’s previous seat as Yuuri was awkwardly standing in the middle of the café.

He absentmindedly sipped on his tea as his eyes roamed around the streets, searching for the telltale signs of silver hair, heart shaped smile, and aquamarine eyes. Yuuri’s free hand was currently fiddling with his pencil, drumming it over his sketchpad, anxiety about being stood up slowly crawling out of his mind as every minute ticked by with still no sign of the Russian man whatsoever.

Viktor was running late.

Well, honestly, now that Yuuri stopped to really think about it, it wasn’t like they made formal plans to meet again. What does he knows anyways about Russia’s customs concerning meeting weirdos who draw you without permission? Maybe the Russian man was just being polite about it all. And Yuuri had been stupid and clueless to pick up on it.

Turned out in the end, there was nothing to be worried about, for Viktor found him a few minutes later.

“Sorry I’m late,” the Russian man wheezed out, dropping on the seat across Yuuri, making the Japanese man jump slightly as his attention had been trained on the place opposite to where Viktor had arrived from. Yuuri colored slightly at that, fumbling as he righted the empty paper cup he managed to knock over. “It took a lot of cajoling to let my manager give me the rest of the afternoon off.”

A frown was immediate to take over Yuuri’s lips. Viktor shouldn’t have, really. It wasn’t like this meeting held any importance – it was just a local touring a tourist around. A mere haphazardly plan made on a spur of the moment.

“We could always postpone this you know,” Yuuri offered, giving the Russian man an understanding smile, “On your off day, perhaps? Or whenever it is convenient for you. It doesn’t necessarily have to be today. I’m here in Russia for a month more.”

Viktor made disapproving sounds from his throat as he stood back up, breath already regulated. “But a month is not enough to see all of Russia’s beauty! Which is why we should start now and make the best of it.”

“But I don’t want to cause you inconvenience!” Yuuri argued but the silver haired man had none of it, already tugging him up from his seat.

“Nonsense!” Viktor scoffed as he dragged Yuuri, who was still spouting arguments as he let himself be dragged. “Besides, what’s done is already done. Making me leave now after clearing my schedule for you _would_ instead cause me inconvenience.”

Yuuri went silent at that.

 

* * *

 

Viktor never would have guessed that his timid and very much innocent-looking Japanese friend could turn out to be such a wild beast once drunk.

Then again, people usually become different persons under the influence of alcohol. As baffling as it was, Viktor honestly found it completely adorable.

Now if only Yuuri stopped getting himself unknowingly into trouble.

“I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologized to the girlfriend of the guy Yuuri had drunkenly grinded with on the dance floor. “He’s Japanese; He can’t hold in his vodka.”

Thankfully it was easy for Viktor to drag his inebriated friend away without further complications, as it seemed like the female’s anger was attuned more to her boyfriend, who still gazed longingly at Yuuri as Viktor dragged him away from the dance floor.

Viktor could only shake his head in disbelief, smiling in amusement at Yuuri as the bespectacled artist continued to move his body to the heavy bass echoing around the club.

This wasn’t what he expected when, after the tour where he had immensely enjoyed watching Yuuri’s amazed reactions when he showed him other facets of his beloved city that usually wasn’t shown to the tourists by tour guides, he proposed they end the day at Viktor’s favorite club. After all, anyone’s Russian experience would never be completed until one tries authentic Russian vodka; and not the diluted or altered stuff imports usually are made of.

Though to be fair, Viktor never expected anything. They weren’t even supposed to drink that much; merely finish a measly bottle of vodka and call it a night. Despite suddenly looking nervous, Yuuri had neither protested nor said anything. How was he to know the Japanese man would immediately reach drunken stupor  after a single shot? And that drunk Yuuri equaled to a brash, forward and completely shameless Yuuri?

It didn’t help that after a rather stunning round of dancing (Viktor couldn’t even specify what exactly it was Yuuri did, it seemed like a mix of ballet, tango, swing, American style street dancing and pop dance), Yuuri regularly received free drinks from various club patrons – to which the Japanese man only took sips from and left the rest for Viktor to finish.

“Make sure to bring him here again!” the owner of the club gleefully shouted at Viktor as he and Yuuri passed by the bar, grinning madly from the other side of counter as he observed the work of their newly hired bartender. A guy from Kazakhstan who Viktor hadn’t met officially yet. “I swear my earnings tonight doubled with how many people bought your friend drinks.”

Viktor only laughed as he waved the old man goodbye.

“Viiiktor,” the Japanese pouted as Viktor carefully helped him to his coat, “I wasn’t done dancing yet.”

Viktor chuckled as he buttoned the other up and wrap a scarf on that red tinted neck. “Did you mean, seducing everyone in there?”

It seemed like this stumped the other for a bit, dark eyes staring blankly at Viktor. Viktor used this momentary pause to pull down a beanie on top of Yuuri’s head and shrugging on his own coat, loosely tying his scarf on his neck.

A moment later a wide smile broke through Yuuri’s face, temporarily blinding Viktor by the brightness of it (and dangerously made his heart skip two beats) as he said, “Well? Had I seduced you too?”

Viktor could only bark a loud laugh at that, steering themselves out of the bar and into the cold Russian night. Such utter shamelessness.

Who would have thought indeed.

“I’d hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid not. I had been too preoccupied at making sure you wouldn’t be mauled by the lovers of the people you danced with” he replied, voice lining in amusement as he kept a hand at the other’s elbow to steady the other’s walking. As graceful and amazing the Japanese man was on the dancefloor, it seemed like without music to help with his rhythm, he was nothing more than another stumbling drunk. Especially when walking.

The pout was back on Yuuri’s lips at that, deeper than before. “Now we can’t have that,” and before Viktor could react, the dark haired man was quick to shed his clothes. Viktor could only gape at the half naked man in front of him seemingly unbothered by the cold night as he stood only on his boxers and socks in less than a minute. How had he even shed his clothes that fast when he couldn’t tell right from left?

Somewhere in the distance, an audible wolf whistle could be heard.

Yuuri had thrown a kiss at the general direction of the whistle, receiving cheers in return.

Viktor honestly don’t know what to do.

He should stop the Japanese man, obviously. If ever a patrolling police could see him now, prison was the only place they’ll land at and he seriously can’t _ever_ let that happen – not because of his career, of course. God knows it’ll still survive despite whatever mess he’ll manage to drag himself in – a great example of that would be back when had been caught with illegal drugs at the age of 18. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Thankfully the aftermath hadn’t been that extreme; his publicists having managed to pull it off as a mere publicity stunt for the anti-drug campaign Viktor was joining (though to be fair, Viktor had _indeed_ planned on joining the movement, as it was what had destroyed both his parents.)

No, Viktor was more afraid of _Yakov’s_ reaction. The old man had nearly had a heart attack at the drug incident, leaving him to give Viktor the silent treatment for a whole week after wards (he only managed to cave in when Viktor had bawled in tears in front of him; guilt, fear and desperation building up inside to the point that the teenager could scarcely hold it in any longer.) Viktor was scared to imagine what would happen to his manager at the news that his beloved model had been arrested for _public nudity,_ as ridiculous as it was for a model to be arrested for showing his body to the public (though technically it wasn’t him.)

Viktor was still debating whatever next course of action would be wise when his train of thought got cut off when the cheers rose in volume: turned out Yuuri had already joyfully vaulted on a light post.

How could _that_ even be possible?

What happened next was so surreal Viktor could do nothing more than gape as his eyes followed his friend’s body; tracing along those bulging veins and flexing muscles as Yuuri did what was supposed to be gravitationally impossible twist and dangles that took a while for Viktor to realize look a lot like the pole dancing Chris did before – back when his Swiss friend was still actively joining pole dancing competitions around the world.

Yuuri Katsuki never ceases to amaze Viktor.

Those hypnotizing legs flexed to the limit when they gripped the pole tight as Yuuri bended his body, hands grasping towards Viktor and, having grabbed the collar of Viktor’s shirt, pulled him close. Their lips hovered each other for a moment – Viktor too surprised and still processing the current events and Yuuri smirking, merely waiting – before Viktor finally grabbed the other’s dark hair and pull him even lower, licking his lips as his eyes hungrily took over how Yuuri bended his body even further, a deep _need_ of some kind fueling him further.

Wow, no wonder almost of the patrons at the bar had been completely besotted with the Japanese man. Yuuri was completely irresistible.

Yuuri moaned in response, the sound completely hitting Viktor harder that it should have. He decided to screw whoever was watching them not even caring if they recognized him and bend over with the intention to kiss the Japanese man’s plump lips—

Only for everything to come to a halt when a scream much akin to a police siren echoed around the street.

The small crowd that had gather near the pole light Yuuri was dangling on was fast to disperse. Viktor frantically gathered the various pieces of clothing Yuuri had shed, before pulling the impossible man down the pole and once again drag him away from impending trouble.

Viktor was seriously at a loss. What just happened?

Yuuri wasn’t even helping; giving him a lazy grin as they frantically ran away from the crime scene (because his pole dancing _was_ indeed a crime), still winded out from his exhibition, voice almost a purr. “Well, had I seduced you now?”

Viktor had a feeling he was so screwed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri had woken the morning after with the most painful headache in history and a throat that could rival a desert in dryness, his first thought was: _Thank God I’m not naked._

The second was: _Fuck, I did it again._

The third was: _Shit, this is not my hotel room. Where am I?_

And the last one was: _There is definitely_ something _licking my feet._

That woke him up fully.

To his surprise, loud panicked barks was the reply to the piercing shriek Yuuri had released, a big brown ball of… something jumping up on the bed and squished his face. When his hands buried underneath all that fluff, he was surprised to find them incredibly soft, something closely relating to sheep’s wool but not exactly. When his hands touched small triangular points that he was incredibly sure were ears, the something that was currently cutting of his respiratory system let out a bark.

It was a dog. A huge and fluffy dog.

Yuuri was incredibly sure he was in love.

 _With the dog, that is._ He immediately supplied to his mind, already feeling himself burn up at what his earlier thought might be interpreted. _And not with its possible owner._ Not that there was anyone else the dog’s owner could be mistaken for.

It’s hasn’t been a month since they first met. How feelings of such nature could already form in such a short amount of time was close to impossible. Ridiculous, really.

“I’m sorry about Makkachin,” the slowly becoming familiar accented English of his Russian friend broke through his musings, making Yuuri yelp a bit in surprise. The warm weight of the dog was extracted from his head and he had immediately started greedily gasping for air when all of it left him again at the incredibly bright sight of Viktor, standing majestically framed by the sunlight pouring out of the room’s French window’s wearing an apron and the huge fluff of dog awkwardly cradled in his arms. “He’s an incredibly curious dog. And absolutely loves meeting new people.”

Viktor’s wide, heart-shaped smile hadn’t helped with the image.

It took Yuuri an incredibly long time to swallow, blinking multiple times just to make sure his mind and senses had remained intact after that brief flight to heaven.

“Ah it’s okay, I actually love dogs.” He let out a week laugh, hands instinctively reaching to his face for his glasses in embarrassment, only to blink quizzically when it wasn’t perched on his nose. Huh, no wonder everything seemed a little muted.

“Ah, here,” Viktor said and took something from the top of the nightstand, handing it to Yuuri. It was his glasses. “I took it off last night. Would you like some breakfast?”

He murmured an affirmative and Viktor let out a pleased hum as he left the room, putting the dog he lovingly cradled down. Yuuri almost stumbled on his way towards the bathroom when Makkachin excitedly butted on his legs, clearly asking for attention. He gave the dog affectionate pats whenever he could.

When he entered the living room, Yuuri was surprised to notice that the whole place smelled heavily like an ocean scented air freshener. He scrunched his nose, the sharp and concentrated scent almost bringing him to tears. He never pegged Viktor as someone who was fond of excessively spraying air freshener.

But then again what does he know? As he earlier stated, he and the man had only met recently.

It wasn’t until he reached the kitchen that he finally understood what pushed the silver haired man to manically spray air freshener throughout the whole apartment.

Let’s just say that Viktor’s talent’s doesn’t extend to the kitchen. And a little reminder that, no matter what its properties was, charcoal should _never_ be consumed.

The Russian man let out a shaky laugh when Yuuri had reached that part of the apartment, mouth immediately gaping in horrified shock at the sight of a stack of blackened squares in the middle of the island counter.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor was quick to quip, head bowed down in shame, Makkachin sitting beside him whining. “Cooking has never been my forte. I usually just drop by the café where we met, it’s only a short walk from here – but not short enough that I’ll be back before you woke up.” When Yuuri hadn’t responded or reacted back, he immediately added, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to…” the Russian trailed off.

“It’s alright.” Yuuri finally managed to croak out after a moment, getting his bearings back after the earlier shock. “Thank you, for the thought. I deeply appreciate it.” He smiled softly at the other when Viktor finally looked him in the eye, face perfectly adopting that kicked puppy look – the same one currently gracing the face of Makkachin.

Yuuri could feel his heart getting uncomfortably squeezed at the sight of master and pet, though unpainful.

_Good lord, what exactly had he gotten himself into?_

“How about--?” Yuuri articulated properly, walking slowly towards the trash can where pans with blackened bottoms piled up. He winced inwardly at that. Was Viktor seriously going to throw all those away? They could still be cleaned! “As thanks for taking care of me last night, I make breakfast today.”

Viktor was quick to brighten at that, giving him a bright smile. Makkachin was quick to pick up on his owner’s mood, immediately standing up and letting out excited barks. Viktor unconsciously patted him on the head. “You can cook?”

An embarrassed flush was quick to crawl on Yuuri’s cheeks, a sheepish smile gracing his lips. “My parents owned a hot springs resort back in Japan. I help out whenever I’m there.”

If possible Viktor brightened even further at that, the heart shaped smile of his making an appearance again. “A Japanese _Onsen_!”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri absentmindedly said, now slowly focusing on the task of pulling out the various pots and pans from the trash and placing them on the sink. It looked like all of the man’s cooking wares were all throw out! Just how much of a disaster had happened earlier that Viktor decided cleaning all of this wouldn’t be worth it?

“Well, in that case, I’m not going to refuse your offer,” Viktor laughed as he sat at a stool in the island counter, seemingly perfectly content in giving Yuuri free reign over his kitchen. Makkachin fleeted at their feet. “After all, I had a hard time taking care of you last night. Drunk you was such a wild person we almost got arrested.”

Yuuri almost dropped the pan he was holding back into the trash can.

_What!?_

 

* * *

“Ohhh, would you look at that!” Mila, Yakov’s only female model, teased, sitting herself beside Viktor at the sofa located outside their manager’s office. They were supposed to do a collaboration photoshoot that day for some clothesline, and had been told to stay put as the old man finalized some details before they’ll leave for the studio. “What a huge smile! Did something good happened today?”

Viktor’s hand unconsciously flew to his lips, indeed feeling a slight curve. He hadn’t even noticed it was there, mind too busy relieving how Yuuri adorably paled in mortification when Viktor rehashed last night’s happening to him. His smile expanded at the reminder.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He winked at the young woman.

Mila let out a tinkling laugh, whipping his red hair to her other shoulder. “Let me guess, you got laid last night, didn’t you?”

Viktor almost choked on his saliva at that. Goodness, young people these days were so vulgar. No wonder Yuri was what he was.

“That’s not exactly what happened…” he trailed, a soft smile in place.

“But you did have someone over, and immensely enjoyed their company.” She hummed, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.

Viktor could only laugh in disbelief at her. Really, he was starting to see just what exactly their youngest of a spitfire claimed he hated about her. The woman was certainly inquisitive.

Though Viktor could hardly fault her for that. That would be hypocritical of him.

“How incredibly rare, a Viktor in love!” Mila cooed, laughing that tinkling laugh of hers again, the one Viktor had no doubt managed to capture the attention of the various hockey players she’s been having as arm candy

“I wouldn’t call it love exactly, we only met recently. But I do find him incredibly intriguing.”

“Pssh,” the red headed woman exclaimed, a hand raised and batting the air, like she was swatting an unwanted fly. “Details.”

Their conversation was casually put into a halt when the office door opened, Yakov’s natural expression turning immediately into a frown when he saw the mischievous look Mila sported and the delighted resigned one on Viktor.

Yavok raised an eyebrow at them. “What were you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” they both immediately said, giving their manager innocent smiles.

Yakov only narrowed his eyes at them in suspicion, completely not believing the farce he is seeing in an instant.

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri had returned back to his hotel room after a fun day with Makkachin as they played on the park behind Viktor’s penthouse, he was pleased to note that his sketch of the aforementioned dog had completely captured the brown fluff’s playfulness.

In fact, Yuuri had been so taken with the dog he almost had second thoughts about returning him to the Russian man. But of course, as was the usual for him, propriety won and when Viktor had returned – rather later than when he had promised, though Yuuri certainly wasn’t complaining – he had reluctantly let go of the dog and bid the pet and owner good bye.

The activity certainly helped him momentarily forget the huge embarrassment he had been last night.

Now that he was back to his hotel room, he was quick to spread newspaper all around the floor, his various painting materials and a new canvas laid out on top of it. He had planned on painting the earlier sketch of Makkachin he made, already knowing that this would be a perfect gift to give Viktor as remembrance of him when he returns to Japan.

After all, although he would very much like to give the man who had helped him find his artistic groove back his very first painting, but let’s face it. As much as that’ll be good sentimental wise, his pride as one of Japan’s top artists prevented him from giving a special friend something as lackluster and ugly as his first portrait of Viktor.

At the very least, with this painting of Makkachin, not only would Viktor probably (hopefully) love it, it’ll be something he’s sure to treasure, for it’ll remind him always of his beloved and wonderful dog (though really, who was he kidding? Yuuri just wanted an excuse to paint Makkachin.)

Mind fully made up, Yuuri dipped his brush unto a color and began weaving a tale of colors on the blank canvas.

 

* * *

 

Yakov, and occasionally Yuri, had continuously told Viktor he was a huge forgetful, airheaded idiot.

Viktor normally shrugged off these comments since they usually were said when the speaker was under deep stress or experiencing negative emotions in higher intensities. It wasn’t until now that he realized the statement had been the truth all along.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized to his friend, sheepishly smiling at the bewildered Japanese man. “Had I never told you my occupation?”

“No!” Yuuri replied in a shrill voice, surprise both of them. His dark haired friend immediately remedied it by clearing his throat and repeated, “No,” again, this time in his normal voice. “I’m afraid you have forgotten to mention that you happened to be one of Russia’s top models.”

Viktor couldn’t help visibly wincing at the accusatory tone of the other. Yeah, he deserved that. In his defense though, he had always thought the other knew. After all, it was hard not to – what with Viktor’s face being plastered almost everywhere, from newspapers to magazines to commercials to even flyers.

Of course, there was also that occasional billboard. Like the one Viktor and Yuuri were staring now somewhere in the streets of St. Petersburg.

Silence descended on them, like an old friend.

Makkachin sat between them, completely oblivious to the undesirable atmosphere currently surrounding them. Viktor immensely envied him.

“Everything actually makes sense now.” Yuuri suddenly stated, eyes not leaving Viktor’s half naked body parading a pair of underpants in the billboard. Viktor unconsciously straightened in attention, waiting with slight dread for whatever his friend would say. “What with how people always seem to follow us with their eyes whenever we go somewhere crowded, or with the way you carry yourself – whole posture always straight and walk always with a little attitude, and even back when we first met! When you offered me an autograph! I had always thought that had been a little bizarre. Now I know better.”

Yuuri was chuckling, which was a positive sign, and means that he wasn’t really angry. Viktor finally let himself relax, smiling in relief at the artist who was now finally looking at him, dark eyes twinkling.

“I truly am sorry, for not telling you earlier,” he apologized again, finally capturing Yuuri’s whole attention. The other was still in shock earlier to fully comprehend his initial apology. “Really, I swore you knew. Not that I’m bragging or anything but my face is plastered a lot around so I thought you have seen it already and researched. And I figured you probably were too polite or shy to ask me personally about it.”

“No need to apologize!” Yuuri was quick say, laughing. “I understand. No one’s at fault really – not like there’s anything I can even blame you for in the first place – so please. It’s okay really, I’m not angry. Just surprised.”

“But still…” Viktor protested.

Yuuri gave him a resigned look, an amused sigh passing from his lips. “Alright. How about this: I’ll let you make it up for me by buying me a cup of green tea at our café. What do you say?”

Viktor was about to agree (though honestly he would agree to anything the other would ask if it meant the weird feeling of guilt would vanish from his chest, and also to be able to return to Yuuri’s good graces), completely ignoring how much his heart expanded when Yuuri said _our café_ – because being completely happy by some words uttered thoughtlessly would be completely ridiculous – when a sudden stroke of genius hit his mind.

Oh yes, that certainly would be a pretty welcome idea.

“Or how about, I make it up to you by inviting you to come with me tomorrow for a photo shoot!” He exclaimed, already feeling excited at the prospect. Oh how he can’t wait to show Yuuri his world! Viktor was pretty sure Yuuri would adore it – his artist side, at least.

Well, Viktor was hoping anyways.

Yuuri stared at him, eyes wide and a light flush on his cheeks. For some reason, Viktor could also feel himself slowly turning red in response.

_What the hell???_

“I would lo-appreciate that,” the Japanese man softly stated, cheeks now tinted a little darker.

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

 

* * *

 

Before he arrived in Russia, Yuuri almost second guessed himself not because he was afraid of venturing out to the unknown for himself, but more because he has heard and read a lot of bad things about how gruff and cold Russians were, kind of like their supposed weather.

It wasn’t until he finally arrived at the country that his initial perception was burned to the ground. Firstly, the weather in Russia wasn’t all snow storms. In fact, it had been a very bright and sunny day when he finally stepped out of the plane to gawk at the country. Secondly, none – and he meant _none_ – of the Russians he had met so far were unfeeling sons of bitches. They were all very jolly people! Although they have a weird sense of humor, and sometimes Yuuri gets the feeling that some of them had loose screws or something , that didn’t change the fact that they were all very warm people and were very kind – albeit a little reserved to those they don’t know.

Which was why, he doesn’t know exactly what to feel when he finally met a stereotypical Russian that the internet had warned him of.

Didn’t help that the stereotypical Russian and him shared practically the same name: _Yuri_.

“What you looking at, asshole?” the blond teenager growled at him, the subtly high pitched English a little more accented that Viktor’s.

Yuuri took an involuntarily step back, eyes roaming around for Viktor or some other form of exit. “Uh, nothing really. I’m sorry.”

The model’s green eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here anyway?”

Yuuri was quick to stutter a reply, but before he could fully say anything, Viktor had arrived.

“Yuri!” the silver haired man chastised the other, frowning. “Stop scaring Yuuri. He’s my friend. Be more respectful, please.” He probably expected for the teenager – _Yuri!_ – to stumble out an apology, and for Yuuri himself to thank him, for he donned an expression that was a bit self-satisfied but really, after what he said, did he honestly expect Yuuri and Yuri – _Yuri!!_ – to understand him?

Both Yu[u]ri’s stared blankly at him.

With which Yu[u]ri was supposed to do what?

Then, Yuri started to shout a tirade in Russian, face angrily scrunched up so hard Yuuri worried it would stay that way. That wouldn’t be good; not only was the other a model, he was also still too young to have any kinds of wrinkles on his face. Would be a shame really, what with him being so pretty.

Why are most Russian men pretty anyways?

Well, the ones that Yuuri had met anyways. But still.

Viktor only breezily laughed in response to the teenagers shouting, which in turn only made the young blond angrier and jumped at Viktor, throttling him.

That completely alarmed Yuuri, especially since it seemed like no one cared about the fact that a teenager was obviously committing murder out in the open. And some of the staff were even laughing!

Could it be that the horror stories about Russians Yuuri had read off on the internet was true? And all this time they were merely acting so that Yuuri would fall for their trap?

Yuuri shrugged off the thought as he broke the two away. It wouldn’t be good to keep thinking that. After all, he had yet to meet the rest of Viktor's dubbed 'family'. Though honestly, if his ‘little brother’ was truly like this, despite the silver haired man describing him as an “Adorably misunderstood kitten who constantly seeks love and affection”, he dreaded to think about how the rest of his family really is like (if his little sister was indeed an “Amazingly strong-willed and naturally inquisitive” person, his same age, love-to-hate brother an “Emotionally sensitive guy with a lot of empathy,” and his father an “Overgrown mushy bear who adores being coddled.”)

“I won’t forget this asshole!” Was Yuri’s parting words to them, surprisingly in English, after he was reluctantly pulled away from his victim and being dragged by his stylist. “I know where you sleep, damn it! I have a key to your apartment!”

Yuuri paled at the threat, fearing for whatever the younger one would do to Viktor. There was no doubt it wasn’t an empty threat, what with the earlier display stating otherwise. The blond man has no qualms in holding himself back.

Much to Yuuri’s horror though, it seemed like Viktor hadn’t learned a thing from his earlier attack – merely cheerily waving in farewell at the little blond spitfire and laughing. “Okay! I’ll make sure to stock up on piroshky then!”

That seemed to further anger the younger model, furiously trying – and failing – to break free from his stylist’s hold. Viktor draped an arm on Yuuri’s shoulders and steered him away.

“So, ready to meet Mila?” Viktor asked, beaming, dragging him closer towards a gorgeous red haired woman sitting in front of a huge mirror and having her hair pinned in curls, showing off her undercut.

Yuuri could only swallow his saliva in trepidation.

 

* * *

 

For some reason Yuuri couldn’t completely comprehend, despite being subtly despised after their first meeting, Yakov – the most intimidating and scariest out of the group of Russians he met today (and that was saying something; for Yuri and his permanent scowl, Mila with her scary exuberance and strength, and Georgi with his terribly bleak outlook in life in general were quite intimidating and scary on their own) – took the most liking to him.

Yuuri could only blink dumbly when, as he waited for Viktor to finish changing at the end of the shoot, Yakov approached him, hand warmly clasped unto his own bigger ones, face clear of all lines (with the exception of the ones already etched to his face) and almost smiling.

A feeling akin to a foreshadowing to something tragic started to unfurl inside Yuuri, as baffling as it was.

“Viktor has another photo shoot tomorrow scheduled. You will be there, yes?” it took a moment for Yuuri to decipher that, as out of all of them, Yakov was the one with the thickest accent and broken English. (Mila was the one who was most fluent of them all, having credited her skills to having an Italian penpal where English had been primarily what they used to communicate. Now apparently they communicate in a weird and bastardization mix of English, Russian and Italian.)

Although the soft expression and hopeful voice said otherwise, Yuuri had a feeling it was more of an order than a request.

He was quick to nod and murmur an affirmative.

Yakow looked like his birthday just came, and he received the best present of all. Yuuri even initially thought the Russian man was going to kiss his hand still clasped between those big ones but thankfully, it seemed like the manager thought better of it and simply squeezed them before turning around to berate Yuri for sneaking in extra bites of the cheap chocolate being passed around.

Yuuri was left to blink dumbly in his place, still not believing the initial exchange happened.

 

* * *

 

As awful as it was, some part of Yuuri was had prepared itself for some sort of backlash.

Turned out, he hadn’t been wrong. Things had just been going to well something unwanted was bound to happen.

For the next days after he first accompanied Viktor to his shoots, he had gotten back to sketching his friend again. After the huge disaster that was his first portrait of the man, as absolutely photogenic Viktor was, Yuuri had to hold in the huge urge to draw the silver haired man in fear he won’t be able to do him justice.

After all, with that kind of looks it deserves nothing but perfection. Something Yuuri is still trying to relearn after an unwilling break.

When he had finally gotten around to drawing Viktor again though, like the first time, Yuuri hadn’t been aware he was doing it. He only realized what he had done when a smiling Viktor was staring at him from his sketchpad.

He was quick to close it when the real version of his drawing approached him on the other’s break.

Now, after a few painful days of hyping himself, he finally mustered the courage to paint one of his sketches, the one he deemed much more acceptable than the others. Surprisingly it was not one from his photo shoots, but him playing with Makkachin at the park behind his penthouse. The two just looked so joyous Yuuri hadn’t even tried to pretend he wasn’t sketching them.

Viktor loved it, of course.

Now if only he could find one of his paintbrushes.

He swore he just placed it on the nightstand. One of the housekeeping staff might have placed it somewhere. Again.

Yuuri sighed as he rummaged around his suitcase. I was a good thing honestly he was prone to keeping a spare. These things happen so commonly it wasn’t funny. Paint brushes were expensive, damn it, and his funds right now were dwindling because of this sudden trip and he currently wasn’t receiving any income-

A crinkling of paper interrupted his thoughts, curious at how such a thing was left on his suitcase when he had made sure to remove everything else when he had arrived. Only his spare painting supplies were left there, the things he had bought after he started painting again.

It turned out to be a ticket. His _return_ ticket back to Japan.

He had forgotten he deliberately placed it there since he rarely opens the suitcase, and therefore won’t be tempted to take it out and hightail it out of the country when the time would come where he’ll deem it too much and fly back home.

Now he was _really_ regretting doing such, for he had honestly forgotten he was nothing more than guest in this lovely country. He had just been here for two months but already, Russia has grown on him. Of course, Japan would always be home but Russia just has this certain charm that Yuuri hadn’t been able to resist. Not that he wanted to in the first place.

Besides, Russia had Viktor.

 _Viktor,_ Yuuri though, head and heart hurting so much more at the thought of his Russian friend. _He would have to leave Viktor._

Yuuri clutched the paper tightly he was crumpling it already, greedily gasping for air as his chest constricted too much he suspected his heart wasn’t beating any longer.

The incomplete canvas at the center of the room had been forgotten, and was probably the very first one Yuuri threw out of the window.

 

* * *

 

The next following days was nothing short of blissful as, starting when Viktor had first brought Yuuri to work, for the next succeeding photo shoots of his the Japanese man was always tagging along, his sketch pad grasped and head always turned towards it as Viktor posed, hand frantically moving as he sketched Viktor in various poses.

Which was why, when the end finally loomed, Viktor had been totally unprepared for it.

Dropping by what have been dubbed as ‘their’ café, for sharing hot drinks and a few more talks before they go their separate ways after every photo shoot was already becoming a routine for them, that was when Yuuri decided confess.

“I’ll be leaving the next day in the evening. Going back home to Japan,” Yuuri stated without preamble when they have already taken their seats, hot mugs of their choice of beverage cradled in their hands.

Viktor almost spilled his.

“What?” he croaked out, having been caught off guard by that sudden admission. But really though, how could he forget such an important thing? He had been having too much fun for the past month and, not to mention, Yuuri was quick to slide seamlessly into Russian life that Viktor honestly had forgotten that the other was merely a temporary entity in the country.

A small smile formed on Yuuri’s lips at his reply, despite his dark eyes slowly losing their luster and growing dull. “I honestly forgot about that until yesterday, when I had been looking for my extra pencil sharpener as my original one broke and instead found my return ticket. I’ve been meaning to tell you all day…”

So that explained the other’s somber attitude earlier that day. Despite being normally shy and reserved, Yuuri had never been closed off, which was why it had been such a surprise when, earlier this morning as the met at this café, Yuuri was barely smiling; expression completely blank it took several calls of his name before he snapped out from whatever it was he was thinking to give you an inkling of an attention.

Surprisingly, it had been Yakov how approached him about that when they have finally arrived at the studio, hurriedly pulling his to the side during a break and furiously hissing asking what had Viktor done to Yuuri for the Japanese man to be acting like that.

Viktor hadn’t been able to answer his manager then.

Now he knew.

“I see…” Oh damn it, why is it so hard to face nonchalance in your voice? “In that case, what do you say about a farewell drinking party?” Viktor made a point in putting a little cheer in his voice, after having failed to pull off a beaming expression.

It took a while for the other man to reply, attention intently trained to his untouched cup of cooling tea. Viktor had even initially thought the other hadn’t heard him – too lost in his thoughts – and was about to repeat his offer when Yuuri finally looked at him in the eyes for the first time since his admission.

“Will it be just the two of us?” Yuuri asked in a soft voice.

The vulnerability in the other’s voice chipped Viktor’s bravado. “If that is what you want.”

“All right then. Tomorrow night?”

Viktor nodded.

The rest of their stay was drowned in silence.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Viktor and Yuuri met up back on their coffee shop and wandered around St. Petersburg as they visited the spots they've been to before. They were reliving moments together, laughing, teasing and swapping stories, trying desperately to ignore the fact that in a few hours they’ll be separating.

Of course, revisiting places includes the club where Viktor first met drunken Yuuri and was subjected to his dangerous dancing prowess.

They hadn’t even thought twice to enter it, immediately ordering the hardest drinks they have. It seemed like both Yuuri and his have the same goal tonight: temporarily forgetting the Japanese man’s impending leave.

As expected, after a few shots of vodka, Yuuri was blabbering.

"Viktor, I have to go home to Hasetsu... And you know what? The ocean is so blue... Just like your eyes." The Japanese man somberly said, looking at Viktor with hazy and teary eyes. “I’ll remember you always when I look at it.”

Viktor had to swallow the huge lump that grew on his throat by following it with shots after shots of vodka. In the end, the tiny amount of alcohol he consumed were not enough, and he was forced to consume it per bottle.

It wasn’t long until he blanked out.

He doesn’t how long exactly until his consciousness gradually returned, but when it did, he was surprised completely out of his wits when he realized both he and Yuuri were back to his apartment, the younger Japanese man pinned at his bed by him as they both frantically grinded at each other, mouths repeatedly fusing.

Viktor was quick to break free; completely ignoring the throbbing of his body and Yuuri’s displeased mewls.

“No, Yuuri no. We will not do this,” he sternly told the man under him when Yuuri’s crotch and lips chased after his.

The completely inebriated man pouted at him, whining, “Why not? It feels so good!”

“You’re leaving soon,” those words had been more effective than being completely submerged naked in the Arctic Ocean. Yuuri stopped struggling, instead fisting his hands sprawled on Viktor’s chest tight, stretching the fabric of Viktor’s shirt.

None of them cared about it.

Yuuri pushed Viktor, pinning him instead to the bed as the Japanese man buried his face on Viktor’s chest, croaking out in an absolutely broken voice, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, _solnyshko_ , It’s alright,” he reassured, grasping tight on the other man’s back and pulling him closer to him. Yuuri mimicked his actions.

“I don’t want to go,”

“Everything would be alright.”

Yuuri momentarily raised his face from Viktor’s chest to look at him, tears already welling up in his eyes. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

Viktor pushed back the other’s sweaty strands of hair and continued to pet it. “As long as you want.”

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up?” the other pleaded. That momentarily made Viktor pause, stopping himself just in time before he was able to blurt out an _“Only when you’ll return the favor.”_ There was no need to make the other more miserable. Clearly Viktor wasn’t the only one suffering.

Besides, he never wanted to see Yuuri sad. A bright smile suited his friend far better than anything else.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

 

* * *

 

When they both woke up, for once in his life, Yuuri had remembered everything that had happened during the period he was blunt drunk. And as what it usually brings, the memory of it brought a vicious flush on his cheeks, especially as he noticed he was being spooned by still slumbering Viktor; the Russian man’s hold on him very tight.

Fortunately though (or unfortunately), when they both managed to wake up fully, they decided not to talk about it, minds too focused on the fact that today was the day Yuuri was leaving. Seemed like both of them came to a silent agreement of not polluting the current atmosphere with anything negative.

Yuuri’s departure was already depressing as it is, no use complicating everything.

Viktor had insisted on accompanying him back to his hotel room to help him pack. Yuuri hadn’t the heart – nor the will – to deny the man anything.

Throughout all the way and the rest of the painful process, time and time Yuuri’s and Viktor’s hands found and wound around each other’s, not at all willing to let go.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had always loved airports. After all, such places brought all kinds of wonderful things like, for instance, a wonderful adventure to another country with all kinds of possibilities and, at the same time, a warm welcome to those weary who wanted nothing to do but curl up at home huddled under blankets against their motherland’s cold yet beloved familiar embrace.

This time though, for the first time, Viktor hated their international airport. For it had reminded him of another, sadder side they also embodied: Goodbyes.

“Here,” Yuuri handed him the lone wrapped canvas he held along with his luggage. All the other ones had been sent back to Japan yesterday through post, to save money, despite Viktor insisting he wouldn’t mind purchasing or keeping all of them – _would actually love it_. “Please accept this as my thank you,” he explained, smiling softly at Viktor. They were stuck standing somewhere at the airport’s lobby, for Viktor couldn’t enter the departure area without a plane ticket. “I don’t know if I have told you this before, but the reason why I flew here in the first place was because I had lost all sorts of inspiration and couldn’t bear to stay back at home while I kept being pressured to produce more artworks. Since arriving here in Russia and meeting you, I’m glad to say that my passion for painting had been relit. You have no idea just how much I’m thankful to you.”

Viktor mirrored the dark haired man's smile, putting the canvas to the ground and let it lean against his legs to stop it from sliding down as he grabbed unto the other’s free hand and cradled it lovingly to his.

“I’m glad to hear that. Never stop creating art, please. Don’t deprive the rest of us that privilege.” Much to his relief, that pulled a laugh from the other, the sound like a soft balm to Viktor's aching heart. Though it still wasn’t enough to completely relieve his heart of the pain that was slowly tearing it in half.

Nevertheless, Viktor still temporarily stored the beautiful sound and image to his mind, to be transferred later to his heart once it could finally manage to handle it.

They both stood there, hands linked, staring softly at each other, none willing to let go.

Eventually though, they have to. When the intercom called Yuuri’s flight, both of them lost the smiles in their faces as they turned towards the general direction of the departures area. The both of them observe the sudden swarm of people hurrying up towards it.

Viktor’s hold on Yuuri’s hand tightened.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Yuuri somberly said, returning his attention back to Viktor, eyes downcast and clinging to Viktor’s hand just as tightly he was almost cutting off the blood circulation. Viktor didn’t care, and honestly wished he’d grip it tighter them it’ll be hard to separate them.

“Yeah,” he croaked, not bothering to stop or hide the tears that had started to gather at his eyes. That would take too much effort – effort that Viktor would rather use to tighten his hold on the other, frantically memorizing every contour and lines on the other’s face. After all, who knows when – or if ever – they would be able to meet each other in person again. Pictures posted in the internet never do one justice, after all, no matter how skillfully it was captured to how much you project as you posed.

Viktor knew that better than anyone else.

Due to some miracle, Yuuri managed to conjure a smile through the steady torrent of his own tears. Though it didn’t stay long.

“Goodbye, Viktor Nikiforov,” The Japanese man said, not making any move to pull away.

“Goodbye, Yuuri Katsuki” he echoed, not letting go.

It was a few more agonizing minutes when they finally mustered the courage to break away from each other, giving the other one last miserable looking smiles before turning around and walking away to their own separate paths – Yuuri towards the departures area and Viktor out of the airport and unto Georgi's car, who had offered to lend it to Viktor for the day.

Not one of them turned to look back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Bonus:**
> 
>  
> 
> The cold Russian winter air was more biting than usual, kind of like they knew exactly what Viktor was about to do and were berating him for it.
> 
> But Viktor honestly didn’t mind it, feeling far too euphoric and blissful to care about anything else than finally executing his plan. Really, he was far too much of an idiot to have only thought of it now. It would have saved him and Makkachin weeks and weeks of moping around his apartment being constantly scolded by Yakov for his absent-mindedness in his photo shoots and commercial shootings.
> 
> Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 
> 
> “Viktor!” Yakov’s familiar gruff voice shattered the cold silence brought upon their beloved motherland’s weather, heavy steps gaining in speed as he briskly walked towards Viktor. “Where the fuck are you going?” the old man angrily spat when nothing more than a feet separated him from his charge.
> 
> Viktor only smiled brightly at him. “To Japan! I’m going to follow my heart, Yakov, and nothing you do or say will stop me!” he petulantly said, looking at his father-figure defiantly.
> 
> As he had expected, Yakov’s face turned red in anger, looking like through only sheer will and discipline was the only thing holding him back from fully throttling Viktor. “Bullshit!” his manager growled, hand holding the note Viktor had left him fisted to crumple the paper. 
> 
> Much to Viktor surprise though, the next words that came out of his manager’s mouth wasn’t something he thought the other would utter. “I knew that. Expected it really since that Japanese man left. What I didn’t expect was for you to leave a measly note-“ the note that Yakov aggressively threw to his face, “instead of talking it out with me! It’s like you have no respect for me at all! I thought I raised you better than that!”
> 
> Despite the accusation in the words, and how completely inappropriate it was to do so, Viktor almost shrieked in delight (well, okay he did. But only for a little bit) at the implications Yakov’s angry tirade held. He wasn’t angry! And had even given Viktor what was close to a blessing the grumpy man could give!
> 
> “I love you,” he said, smile wide as he engulfed his manager into a tight and warm hug. He could feel Yakov deflating in anger in response, releasing a tired sigh as he patted Viktor at the back. This serve to only tighten the hug.
> 
> “Don’t take too long. I’ll seriously fly to Japan and personally murder you if you end your career prematurely for something as fickle as this. You haven’t even made it official yet.” Viktor was quick to look back to pout at his manager. How cruel!
> 
> Yakov only rolled his eyes, before softening his expression again. “Bring that boy back here if you can. I like him. You seem to always be on your best behavior around him – like some gaudy peacock awkwardly trying to be somewhat normal.”
> 
> “Yakov!” he whined. That was totally uncalled for! Viktor was a very good and behaved man.
> 
> That finally managed to release a laugh from Yakov, one that Viktor was quick to mirror.
> 
> “Go on now, before you miss your flight. Contrary to what you believe in, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you. Besides, I’m tired of seeing you moping around and mucking up your shoots,” Yakov said, breaking away from his hold to shoo him. Viktor would’ve pouted at that, completely offended, I he didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to.
> 
> And with a parting kiss on his father-figure’s cheek, Viktor hurriedly crossed the bridge that separated him from the love of his life.


End file.
